


Angel of the Morning

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Congressman Sam, M/M, Secret Service Agent Dean Winchester, Stenographer Castiel, Vice President Henriksen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6057664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is the primary stenographer for the House. He's confident in his abilities, and quiet in his pride. The charismatic storm called Sam Winchester bursts into his world, and suddenly, Castiel is rethinking everything, especially himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One is the Loneliest Number

Castiel did not open his eyes. It was better that way. Not easier. Never easier. But better. 

Sam's hand touched his cheek gently, and then the warmth was gone, and he could hear the footsteps. He had listened to the sounds of the man dressing, the threading of long legs through pants, the slip and click of a belt, the sigh of stubborn shirt buttons, the slide of the silk tie. All of it made up the soft, bitter sounds of Sam leaving him. Then there was the tender brush of fingertips on his cheek, and that was his notice, his cue to turn it all off. To flip the switch and stop adoring Sam. To shut down his heart until next time. 

He wondered if Sam realized how impossible that command was. Did Sam honestly think that he meant as little to Castiel as Castiel clearly meant to him? Did he think Castiel could give him every inch of his body and soul for a few hours, then reel it all back in, good as new, and turn off the absolute devotion? Or did Sam know how Castiel suffered every minute they were apart, every minute he spent in cold reality alone? If he knew, how could he be so cruel? If he didn't know...how could he not know?

The door clicked closed behind his lover, and Castiel could let his tears drop onto his pillow at last. He took hold of the pillow Sam's hair had rested upon all night, and he held it to him as his ache spilled out in sobs. 

It was just another Thursday morning.

***

“So if my distinguished colleague, who hasn't lifted a finger to advance our technological infrastructure in the last twenty years, and would rather spend the next twenty supporting failing antique programs, judging by his voting record, is finished wasting the committee’s time, I'd like to move on to the practical value of upgrading an obsolete security system that has already been hacked and hijacked twice this year, costing taxpayers more than the money it would take to fix it.”

“Richard, do you really think that bill is going to pass through as is? I like pie too, but let's not put it in the sky. I'm not willing to lose good judges just because I'm asking the Senate to swallow this entire proposal. If we scale it back, it has a chance at actually becoming law, and your constituents will see you actually did something to promote diversity and protect integrity in the courtroom instead of gave it a valiant effort.”

“Zac, that begs the question, if we could stop wasting the money on harassing poor families and humiliating hungry kids, could we actually feed more of them a free lunch, give the kids a better chance academically and developmentally, and raise kids who are healthier, smarter, stronger, who miss fewer school days, and become more productive and happier members of society? But I'm sorry. I interrupted your tirade against the single mothers who have an average delinquency of eight dollars on their kids’ lunch accounts in a damn public school. Please continue.”

“Can you think of a better way to alienate an entire community of people than to let this bill become law? Oh. I know. Let's phrase it in a way that indicates that we think they're all undocumented and have the same nation of origin.”

Sam was on fire this week. He took no prisoners and showed no mercy. He was in the strange and satisfying situation in which he had no reason whatsoever to care what his colleagues thought of him. He had been sent to the Hill to finish a job, begun by a man who had served about twelve terms too many, and then had died in the middle of one. Sam was not going to run for office when the term was up. He had no reason not to fight every battle with his conscience. 

And, grudgingly, his colleagues did like him. Many seemed to envy his position, his freedom to do as he pleased. On the other hand, just as Sam had no need to impress any of his peers, they had no political motivation to collaborate with him, since he was a temporary fixture in the House, appointed by a lame duck governor. So it was left to Sam's graceful rhetoric and easy charm, not to mention his impeccable research and integrity, to win his arguments. He read every word of every major bill and measure, and assigned his staff interns to pour through every tedious word of the less critical documents. For foreign policy, he had found a colleague he trusted and admired to guide him in his votes. In domestic areas, he was more than capable and confident, not just voting, but arguing and crafting policy. 

It was infuriating for the established representatives, but the oldest ones among them tended to sit back and enjoy the show, and laugh as those in the prime of their careers got hot and bothered by a hard working, fearless man who did what he felt was right without a care in world for what was politic. 

And Castiel had a front row seat to the theatre. 

There was a great deal of pressure in being the primary stenographer for House committee meetings. The history books could say what the outcome of decisions would be, but the only true record of how those decisions were reached was Castiel's. And Castiel had proven, time and again, that he was the best. Most of the representatives didn't have the time or inclination to become familiar with those who worked behind the scenes, especially not the ones like Castiel, who were virtually silent. Many didn't even bother learning much about their own staff, let alone those who worked for the House and not individual members. That was how Castiel liked it, in fact. He was not shy so much as introverted and quiet, and he enjoyed the role of observer. 

Then there was Sam. 

The charisma was practically a cologne, nearly a hum reverberating from the man. Castiel would swear into his own machines that he could feel the man enter the room that first day, even before he could see him. And when he did see him…

“Well, now, that's the kind of thing I like to see on the floor,” Mildred sighed happily. 

Eileen tapped Castiel's arm and began to sign. “Except that she prefers him lying on the floor.”

Castiel snickered. 

“A bit tall for me, dear,” Mildred mused back. “Cas? More your type, I think.”

He finally took a good look, and signed to them as a blush crept across his cheeks. “I'm sure he's too important to speak to me.”

Eileen winked. She spoke and gestured back, “So am I, but I do anyway.”

He chuckled quietly. 

Mildred strained to see over the crowd. “I believe that might be Sam Winchester, the man filling Doc’s seat.” She grinned. “And he fills it so nicely,” she added as the man leaned over to shake the hand of the older man sitting near him. 

Eileen sighed. “I thought Benton would never die,” she signed. 

Castiel put his finger over his lips, and laughed when she rolled her eyes at him. “Ladies, I'll need to start soon. Thank you for gracing me with your important selves while I set up. Happy voting.”

The two women smiled at him, and took their seats to look over the docket. 

He checked his equipment quietly, but he was suddenly aware of Rep. Winchester approaching him. His breath caught in his throat, and he realized he was trapped. 

The man's smile was stunning. “Hello. You're the records keeper?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, sir. I'm the, uh...I'm the stenographer.”

“Wow. That's...that's not a keyboard.” He pointed down at Castiel’s machine. “Pretty sure you're missing a few letters.”

He chuckled softly. “That's a stenograph, sir. It's meant to be that way.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Court reporters use that too?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I guess I never looked.”

“You're an attorney?”

He nodded again. “But how do you type what we say if you don't have all the letters?”

Castiel smiled at him. “I don't need them. I'm typing the sounds you make, not the letters you say.”

Sam burst into a gorgeous laughter that took Castiel's breath away. “I don't have any idea what that means.”

The stenographer felt his stomach flutter anxiously. “Fortunately, you don't need to, sir. You have me.”

Sam's handsome face softened into a kind smile. “What's your name?”

“I'm Castiel, sir. Cas.”

A large hand reached for him, and Castiel found his own hand clasped in both of Sam's. “Cas,” he said warmly, nearly sensually. “I’m Sam, and I'm glad we have you.”

Castiel nearly whimpered. He managed a tiny nod, but did not trust his voice. 

But something in his eyes must have communicated for him, because Sam's own gaze narrowed, and a spark of amusement lit his smile. “Maybe we will run into one another now and then, Cas.”

He nodded breathlessly. 

Then the eyes and hands finally released him, and he was left to tremble in Sam's wake. 

And now, months later, seeing Sam made his mouth go dry, his chest ache, and his voice fail him. The irony was that Castiel had never been lonely until he had fallen in love with beautiful, brilliant Sam Winchester, who refused to fall with him.


	2. Two Can Be as Bad as One

When Sam unlocked the door to his office, he startled badly. There was a large, unmistakable figure sitting in the dark, boots crossed at the ankles high up in his desk, and arms folded across a powerful chest as it lounged in the office chair. 

“Jesus, Dean!” he huffed. 

The figure didn't move, but he could see the smile under closed eyes. “Majority Whip came by to see you. I told her I wouldn't mind a whipping from her.”

Sam sighed, turned on the light, and began to file the stack of papers in his arms. “You did not.”

“No. But I did get her cell number.”

There were times he couldn't be sure if Dean was joking. “Dude, she would eat you alive.”

He shrugged, and sat up finally. 

Sam whirled on him as he remembered something. “And stop breaking into my damn office!” he said. 

“Not like it's hard.”

“That's not...That's not the point! My god, you're my Roger Clinton!”

Dean grinned. “You know Roger Clinton’s secret service codename was Headache?”

“Yeah? Yours would be Pain-in-the-Ass.”

“Too many syllables. They'd shorten it to Adorable.”

“That's the same number of syllables, dumbass.”

Dean squinted for a moment, wiggling his fingers in concentration. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Want me to clap it out for you?”

“Shut up.”

He laughed, and turned away from his filing finally. “So? Why did you break in anyway?”

Dean sat up. “You haven't seen daylight for two weeks.”

“It's ten at night.”

“Exactly. And we're going out. So here.” He tossed a bag from the floor into Sam's chest. “Put on something other than the suit.”

“You're in a suit.”

“I'm on call.”

Sam blinked at him. “Then we can't go to a bar. What did you have in mind?”

“We can go to a bar. I just ain't the one who needs a drink. Come on.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Sam was pushing his broad shoulders through a crowded sports bar. He glanced back at Dean with a sigh. “I miss Harvelle's!” he called over the noise. 

Dean nodded, but didn't bother trying to respond until they were seated in a tiny booth near the bar. “So?” he said then. “Why haven't you been around?”

He threw his hands up. “We're in session, Dean! I can't just go out drinking every night!”

“Dude, we live in the same city for the first time in years, and the last time I saw you without staking out your office was when you were jogging on the Mall the same time the veep happened to be doing a walking interview, and I couldn't even speak to you because I was working!”

Sam shrugged moodily. “I was listening to CSPAN on podcast anyway.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course you were.”

“Look. I got two and a half years to do something important. I don't have time to waste.”

His brother nodded slowly. The waitress came and took their order, and he smiled his thanks, then turned back to Sam. “You know,” he said with a tone of caution, “Governor Fitzgerald wants you to run at the end of your term.”

Sam winced. “Garth can kiss my ass. He was in a bind, and I did what he wanted me to do. I'm one of the youngest attorney generals in Kansan history, and I worked hard to get there. I'm not a damn Congressman.”

The green eyes before him were shining with pride. “You are, though.”

“I don't want to be.”

Dean sat back with a sigh. “But you're amazing at it! Everybody says so! Every time I'm on Viking’s detail, he talks about my kid brother tearing up the House. I never saw the man get so much pleasure out of reading dry House committee transcripts as when you're in them. Did you really tell Richard he was less a Roman than a Dick?”

Sam accepted his drink from the waitress and thanked her as she set Dean's soda on the table. Then he turned back to him. “It's true, isn't it? He talks big, like he's ready to take over the world, but it comes down to it, he's still bending to what the assholes holding his campaign purse hostage tell him to do.”

Dean chuckled in delight. “Sammy, he's on our side, you know.”

Sam snorted his derision. “I don't have a side. And you're secret service. You don't have a side either. And stop calling me that.”

“Whip seems to think you got a side. So does Governor Fitzgerald.”

Sam's eyes narrowed, and he stared at Dean for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “I don't get how you can call a scrawny nerd whose ass you've been saving since preschool Governor Fitzgerald, but you can't handle calling me Sam.”

Dean burst into laughter. “I'm going to tell Viking they should start putting Samuel for every official document.”

“You're a jackass.” Sam threw back his drink and waved at their waitress again. “How is Victor?”

He shrugged, and waited while Sam ordered another drink. “Full of himself as always. Obsessive. String of angry ex-wives.”

“Yeah. I sit near one on the floor. First time I met her, she told me she wouldn't blame you if the Vice President were shot on your watch one day. Or strangled.”

“He didn't mind hearing you shut down her pork proposal couple weeks back.”

“She did. I thought I was going to need a service detail for a while.”

“Viking’s got your back. He'd like to see you run too, you know.”

Sam shook his head. “Give it a rest, Dean. You said you were leaving once Vic was out of office anyway.”

“That's another two years after your term’s out! Come on, Sammy! You gotta make the decision now! Vic says you-”

“I have made the decision!” he cried out in disbelief. “I made the decision before I took the job in the first place! I told Garth that day one! I worked my ass off to get attorney general, and-”

“And you'll have to get it all over again when you go home. So don't go home! Vic says you're doing good, but you would have a lot more to work with if anybody thought you'd be around longer!”

“I won't be!” He sighed. “Look. I'm not half-assing this thing. I'm not just punching the clock and voting party lines like everyone expected me to do. But I'm done when the bell rings. If that means I don't have much influence, I'm sorry. I'm not a politician. Running on Garth's coattails for attorney general is one thing. I'm not looking to campaign, and I don't want to have to explain everything I think and do outside of the job. We don't even know what that would do to your career! And I don't want folks following me to bars when I'm out with my brother, writing down every time I call Richard Roman a Dick. The media doesn't care about me, because I'm a non-player. The minute I consider running, they'll eat me alive.”

Dean's face was reddening. “So they find out you're shtooping the stenographer. Who cares?”

Sam's eyes flew wide open, and his hands clenched in fists. “What?” he spat. 

“Sam, it isn't as big a deal as-”

His voice was low and his eyes took on a fierce look of danger. “What do you know about…”

Dean shrugged uncomfortably. “I don't. Know, I mean. Or...I didn't, but it's right there on your face. I'm a service agent, Sammy. And I'm a big brother. So when I see somebody looking like the cat that ate the canary heading into a hotel my kid brother just checked himself into for no good reason, I want to make sure he ain't a threat. Turns out, he's just a gay nerd that meets a congressman every Wednesday evening to play house.”

Sam's eyes flashed angrily. “You had no right!” he hissed. His mind was racing with a thousand thoughts, but he couldn't hear them over his heart pounding. 

“I didn't mean to...Sam, I was just looking out for you. This city is dangerous, man, and you're a good Kansas boy, like I was, and you don't have any clue how ugly things can be, and-”

The fists flattened as Sam's palms slammed into the table. “I'm not a child!”

Dean's hand went up in defense. “Sam, I didn't mean to get into your business! Your privacy-”

“Apparently isn't private! You follow me, you check on people I see personally, you break into my office-”

“Hey, that office is just asking to be broke into. Hardly a twenty second pick!”

“You're unbelievable! You're a complete and total-”

Dean grabbed his brother's arm across the table. “Sam, stop! Okay? I don't care that you're gay!”

His eyes were burning, his lips trembling, and he had to turn away as the waitress brought his drink. He took hold of it and threw it back immediately.

His brother sighed. “He’ll have another, please.”

The waitress nodded with surprise, and hurried away. 

Then he turned back to Sam. “Hey! Hey. Stop. Don't do this to yourself, okay? You want secrets, fine. Keep them. But not from me, okay? This man you're seeing, he's a good guy. There isn't anybody who doesn't believe that. The worst dirt on him I could find was he's a bit sarcastic, a perfectionist and possibly a workaholic, and if that doesn't make him your perfect fit, I don't know what would. And of course he's openly gay.”

Sam felt as though he were exposed to the world, or at least to the most important man in it. He wanted to run. This place was suffocating him. But he had just thrown back two doubles, and more was on its way, and a giddy, puckish part of his brain wanted to stay to find out just how bad this could get, how much Sam's heart could take. 

“Sam, it really is okay. I just wish you had told me years ago. You don't have to hide! Years ago-”

He snorted, his eyes taking on a wild look. “When? Back in high school? Where a bunch of kids beat the crap out of Barry because they thought he was gay? Where they tormented him until he offed himself? Wasn't even really gay! But that's how much people back home hated the idea, Dean! Or what about back at college and law school? When Prop 8 was going through, and everyone was screaming that men like me are all pedaphiles and perverts? Would that have been a good time?”

“Sammy-”

“After law school, as a prosecutor for the state? Or how about as a candidate for attorney general in the most conservative part of the freaking country? When exactly would have been the right day to come out, even just to you?”

“Sam, stop!”

He jabbed a finger at his brother. “You think I want to drag Cas through the mud like that? It's fine that he's out. It's great! But he's not the congressman. He's not the once and future attorney general for Kansas. He's a stenographer, Dean! He wants a quiet life doing good, important work. He deserves that. I'm not making him a freak show in the media circus by coming out or by running for another term and letting them start putting their noses all over me. You sniffed it out. You know they would. Cas doesn't deserve to be reduced to my scandalous boyfriend. He's a good man, a quiet man, and he deserves his privacy. If I run, or if I come out, I'm giving up both the attorney general position and Castiel's privacy forever.”

Dean was nodding sadly. “That...I guess that's it, then.”

“That's it,” Sam said firmly. “I could never get elected in Kansas as a gay man. Did you know Kansas is one of just eight states in the Union that never elected an openly gay person to the state legislature? Arkansas, Alabama and West Virginia, but not Kansas. Never a gay mayor, or judge either. Don't get me wrong. We've elected gay folks. We just didn't know it, because that's political suicide, and it drags family and friends down with you. I won't do it to you or Cas or Garth, and I don't want to go through it myself.”

“Cas, Garth, fine. But I'm secret service. Media can't harass me. And even if they could? You think I give a damn? You're my brother, Sam! Nothing matters more than that!”

Sam smiled weakly then. “Yeah. That's why I wouldn't do it to you.”

Dean conceded the point bitterly. “I just want you to be happy, man,” he said with a note of defeat.

“I'm not going to be happy. That ain't in the stars. But I can be useful, and I can do things that need doing. And that's good enough for me.”

Dean sighed.


	3. Ache

The man was standing at the window when Castiel used his key card to enter the hotel room. He was barefoot, in his suit pants and an open white button-down shirt, having lost his tie somewhere. His long throat was bare and beautiful. Without a movement, he managed to take Castiel's breath away.

“You're unreasonably good looking, you know that?” he accused.

He could see the ghost of a smile brush Sam's lips, though he didn't turn to face him.

He pulled off his coat and suit jacket, and folded them over the chair by the desk. He stepped out of his shoes as he continued. “You know, all the other congressmen I sleep with, the ones on Mondays and Tuesdays and Thursdays especially, they at least buy me jewelry.”

Sam's mouth quirked, and he gave a small snort.

“My Saturday congressman, he just brings liquor. Sundays are the Sabbath, of course. So I sleep with the chaplain that night.”

At last, Sam turned and watched him undress. “And Fridays?” he said finally.

The joke slipped away at the sound of the man's voice, and Castiel stood naked and exposed. “Available,” he whispered. “If...you ever want to call.” He smiled sadly. He was too tired to pretend he wasn't hurting. It took too much energy to keep up the charade, to try to deceive them both that his heart wasn't scarred.

For the first time, Castiel saw a slight flinch, a narrowing of Sam's eyes. It was gone in a flash, but Castiel knew he had seen it.

So this was hurting Sam too. The thought pierced his brain, and he lifted his chin with all the strength he had left, and listened in shock to his own voice. “Actually, I...I wanted to talk to you about that. This…” He cleared his throat. “This should be our last night. You made it clear in the beginning that you were looking for something stringless and temporary, and I've got to find a Wednesday date that can afford more jewelry, or at least a decent bottle of vodka, so…”

Pain etched a line across Sam's brow, but he nodded and forced a smile. “Yeah. Selfish of me to take up a seventh of your week. Last night, then.”

“Last night,” Castiel repeated firmly. It could destroy him later, but if their arrangement was hurting Sam in any way, it had to end.

“May I...choose how we spend it?”

Castiel looked up into those eyes, and knew that he would never deny this man anything.

Sam approached, and placed gentle fingers on his throat, slid them up to lift his chin, and lowered his own mouth to kiss his lips tenderly. It was softer than any kiss they had shared before, and Castiel felt his eyes stinging with tears, even as his body reacted to the touch.

Everything about Sam was gentle tonight. He backed Castiel toward the bed, laid him out, and kissed him everywhere. There was none of the urgency from weeks past, only the soft, worshipful affection that confused Castiel's heart even more.

Then came the teeth, and that was more familiar, and Castiel smiled as Sam's hunger flared. No matter what Castiel didn't evoke in Sam's heart, he knew exactly what he stirred in the man's groin, and that would have to be enough. His heart was doomed from the moment he saw Sam, but no one could ever take these nights from him, the way he had pulled pleasure and want from such a creature as Sam Winchester. That was for life. That was forever.

Despite his teasing, Castiel had not felt any man’s skin or mouth or hands on him for years, except Sam's. In the beginning, he had tried to convince himself that was all it was, just relief at being touched. But it wasn't long before even that didn't explain the intensity of his ache for Sam. He wanted him all the time. All day, he spent feeling every sweet kiss again; all night, he cried aloud into the lonely dark for that heat and passion. No man had ever made Castiel feel so much and so good, and so desperate and so heartbroken.

Sam was everywhere. The large hands were at work exploring every inch of Castiel's body, as if they would memorize him. Sometimes he could tell that Sam wanted him to lie back and enjoy without hurrying to reciprocate. This was one of those times. He wanted to get his mouth on the man, to force those sighs of pleasure past those gorgeous lips, to see the hazel eyes soften and give in. But that time would come, when Sam had finished his study of Castiel's own body and soul.

It wasn't long before Sam's hands and hot breath brought him to the edge. He knew what his own voice did to the man, so he vocalized his pleasure more than he probably would have otherwise. Every sound Castiel made drove Sam further into his hunger. Every moan from Castiel was rewarded, and he rewarded Sam for every gesture with a moan, and they were both close by the time Castiel pushed him onto his back.

There was no greater ecstasy than watching Sam's eyes as Castiel lowered himself onto him, sheathing the man in heat. The way Sam's lips parted and he simply sighed, as if he never wanted to leave that moment, as if he had been waiting all week, all his life, for it…

That was Castiel's forever. No one could take that from him. Not ever.

An hour later, Sam had showered, and Castiel took his turn. But when he returned to the room, Sam wasn't asleep as he normally was. He reached for Castiel again, and pulled him into the bed to lie beside him.

Castiel smiled in weary surprise. Sam might move in his sleep to hold him, but he didn't do so while awake. That wasn't what they were together. But he was grateful for the touch, and settled into the man's strong arms without a word. His eyes slipped closed in something like a flinch. They fit perfectly like this. Castiel had long suspected they would.

Sam's voice was soft, barely a whisper. “You were crying.”

He sighed. “No. Of course not.”

“You were. In the shower.”

“Well, so would you if you had to break in a new congressman.”

But Sam didn't allow the joke this time. “Cas, I'm so sorry if…”

He stiffened a little in the embrace he had literally dreamed of for months. “Stop. That's not fair. Don't insult me. I'm not a child. I knew what this was. And it's what I wanted.”

“It's not what I wanted,” the whisper said then.

Castiel froze. What did that mean? “I wasn't…” His voice broke, and he couldn't continue.

“No!” Sam twisted so that he could kiss his lips, and touch his face. “No, I didn't mean...You've been incredible. You've been...everything good in these past months! You've been...Cas, you've been the only thing that has ever felt right to me.”

There wasn't enough strength left in his whole body to fight the tears now.

Sam rolled them over. He lowered his forehead to Castiel's chest, which was still warm from the shower, and now was flushing hot with heartache. “Cas, please. Please, I'm so, so sorry.”

“Stop it!” Castiel snapped through his sobs. “I'm the one…” He choked on his words, and had to take a long breath. “I'm the one that initiated this whole thing, by approaching you for coffee. I'm the one who suggested this arrangement when you didn't want anything more. I'm the one who said tonight was the last night. I'm...I'm the one who...the one who fell in too deep. I'm the one who fell…”

The man was shaking his head slightly without lifting it from where it rested above Castiel's broken heart. “You're not,” he said hoarsely. “Not the only one.”

Castiel's eyes opened slowly, and his weeping stilled. He was suddenly afraid to move or breathe or speak.

At last, Sam lifted his handsome face to gaze at his lover. His own eyes were dry, but even in the meager light, Castiel could see they were red and worried. “Cas, I don't know what to do. I don't know...I don't know how to feel what I'm feeling for you without destroying everything.”

So it really was all about staying closeted. Castiel shook his head in disbelief. “You mean...All this time, you wanted more, but...you never said so? You never-You let me think I wasn't...that I couldn't be…”

“I'm so sorry, Cas. I never meant to hurt you. I just...I thought I could do this. People do this! They separate their emotions and the physical stuff, and they...Don't they? I tried. I thought, if you could do it, so could I. Cas can just flip a switch on Thursday morning, and not think of me till the next time, why couldn't I?”

Castiel felt some strange, hysterical hybrid made of a sob and a laugh bubble painfully in his chest. “Right. Because I'm the zenith of non-romantic, meaningless sex?” He shook his head. “Sam, I've been in love with you, completely and irrevocably, since you first spoke to me. How could you possibly think I didn't worship you?”

And now it was Sam's turn. His tears were virtually silent, except for tiny gasps of shallow breath.

He stared at him in the dark with wonder. “Sam, I did this because you told me it was all I could have, and I wanted anything you were willing to give me. There has never been any other man who could make me do something like this. I knew months ago that you were going to rip out my heart. How could you not? Look at you!”

Sam shook his head but did not speak.

“You don't have any idea.” He smiled sadly. “Well, I'll add that to the list of reasons you're perfect. Sam, anyone would feel like I do after spending any time with you at all! You're brilliance and charisma wrapped entirely in gorgeous. You're a good man and a great lover. You're jaded enough to have this clever, dry wit, but you're young and sweet enough to still believe in _Mr. Smith Goes to Washington_. You're the gorgeous love child of Jimmy and Jon Stewart! How could I not love you?”

The congressman burst into laughter, and his tears streamed down his face. “You gonna be my campaign manager? My PR guy?”

Castiel didn't laugh, but he touched his lover’s cheek softly. “I think I've already made it clear that I'll be whatever you want me to be.”

Sam rested his head on Castiel's chest again. “Just be Cas tonight. We’ll figure out the rest in the morning. All I know is I don't want this to be the last night.”

He nodded, and set to work stroking Sam's hair until he could finally feel them both drifting to sleep.


	4. A Good Fit

_It wasn't Dean._

_It wasn't Dean._

_It wasn't Dean_.

The three words kept pounding through his head, but he wouldn't believe it until he saw it.

“Congressman?”

“Twenty-five minute verify. POTUS DOA, two agents, one DOA, the other critical. Shooter down. All points checked in. Vice President is secure. Speaker is secure. Next verify in five minutes.”

“Congressman? You all right?”

“I'm fine,” he breathed. “I'm…”

“You want me to turn that off?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just please keep driving.”

“Repeating twenty-five minute verification,” a voice answered back through the radio. “Tanglewood DOA. One agent DOA. One agent critical. Shooter down. All agents reported in, all points. Viking secure. Birdie secure. Next verification in five.”

 _Viking secure. Viking secure. Tanglewood dead on arrival, but Viking secure_. That meant Dean secure. He was sure of it. But he had to see for himself.

His phone was ringing again. He looked down at it blankly. Then he frowned. “I don't know anything else, Bobby! I told you I'd call you when I knew something!” He hung up the phone, and instantly felt guilty for it.

Castiel reached out and touched his hand gently. “Sam.”

“God, what if they got it wrong, Cas? Benny said it wasn't Dean, and that was all he could say before he had to go. What if...what if he meant…”

“Shh,” Castiel soothed. “We're nearly there.”

The driver nodded in silent confirmation.

“Thank you for coming for me, Cole. I know you're off duty.”

“Nobody's off duty tonight, Congressman. And I knew you'd need an agent to get you in. It's the one time my clearance is more important than yours. Your brother is a good guy. He'd want us thinking of his little brother in all this chaos. And, sir, I'm sure he's fine.”

The phone buzzed again. Sam cringed. “Garth, I'm pulling into the hospital now. I don't know any more than you-”

“Sam, you call me the minute you know Dean's fine. And you tell Vic Henriksen that Gov. Fitzgerald said he's out of his mind!”

“What?” Sam shook his head. “Garth, I can't deal with...with whatever this is. Just...I'll call you in a while. Hey!”

“What?” Garth sounded more irritable than he had ever heard him before.

“Call Bobby Singer, will you? He's blowing up my phone, and I can't talk to him till I see Dean.”

“I'm on it. Sam?” He sighed, and began to sound a little more like Garth again. “If you need anything at all, you can call me.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Thanks. I'll keep that in mind, buddy.” He hung up and growled at the phone. “Dean, I swear to God, if you die and Garth won't stop hugging me…”

Castiel smiled at him sadly.

The ten minutes that followed went like a blur. He was ushered inside, swept through doors, and he heard Cole getting them past checkpoints inside the hospital. But all he knew was his grip on Castiel's arm. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he must be bruising the man, but Castiel just nodded at him whenever their eyes met.

And there he was.

Sam took in a shallow breath and sighed it out. “Dean,” he hissed.

The man turned to smile at him in the doorway. His face was pale, his eyes ringed in weary dark, but it was Dean, and he was alive. “Sammy,” he breathed.

“Jesus, Dean!” He dropped his grip on Castiel at last, and fell into the chair beside his brother's hospital bed, helplessly watching silent nurses work around them.

“Hey,” his big brother croaked hoarsely. “Cole…”

Sam shuddered. It terrified him how weak his hero sounded. “Yeah. He came soon as he heard it come over the radio. He was off, so...God, Dean. I thought...Benny said it wasn't you, but…”

“It was Elkins. He's the best there was. A legend. Damn psycho got off four shots; Danny took two of them before POTUS went down.” The effort of speaking was exhausting the man. He closed his eyes, but continued softly. “Only time in months Danny and me were even in the same space…” Then his eyes flew open. “Viking!” he shouted. He struggled against wires and strong hands to push himself up from the bed. “Get off me! Vic!”

“Dean!” Sam jumped up to assist the nurses in pushing his brother back down. “Stop! Vic is fine! You took what was meant for him. He's fine, Dean.”

Castiel's deep voice spoke behind him. “You did your job, Agent. The Vice President is secure.”

The words sunk in slowly. Dean gave a deep sigh of relief, and let himself be lowered back to the cot. He smiled softly. “Sammy?”

“Yeah, man. I'll be here.”

Dean's breath evened out at last, and the nurses looked grateful. Sam spoke to them briefly, then let Cole lead them out of the way. The agent left them in a small, private waiting room, and hurried away to see how he could help others.

Sam turned to Castiel. “Thank you. For saying that. It's what he needed to hear, and I didn't think of it.”

Castiel shrugged. “It's what they say to one another, that the person is secure. I thought it might help him to hear it.”

He smiled. “That's all my brother's ever needed to hear. I was his first job. Sammy is secure, and you've done your job. God, if my dad had ever said that to him, I think Dean could have died proud in that moment. He's been diving in front of anything that could hurt me since I was born. It's just who he is. The protector.”

“I'm glad he was on Henriksen’s detail and not the President’s.”

Sam fell into the couch, and Castiel joined him. “God. The President. What's going to happen?”

“They've already sworn Henriksen in by now, I guess. With Kennedy, Johnson was on Air Force One, I think. He’ll have to choose a veep. He won't want to take the chance that the Speaker will ever take office.”

“They're the same party.”

“Doesn't matter,” Castiel sighed. “They hate one another. Henriksen thinks he's a snake.”

“He is.”

Castiel smiled and took Sam’s hand. “No one is here to see. Rest on me.”

Suddenly, the worst worries of his life came into sharp clarity all at once. Sam closed his eyes and heard himself speak. “Let them see,” he responded. “I've got nothing to hide. My brother just took a bullet for the Vice President of the United States. Winchesters don't hide. We step up and we take the hit. I will not be a selfish coward the same day my brother nearly gave his life for the Vice President. Let them see. I've got nothing to apologize for.”

The soft, deep voice from the doorway startled them both. “Well said, Winchester.”

Sam shot to his feet. “Henriksen!”

“Heya, Sammy. Yeah, I know all about you, Sam. Butch to Dean's Sundance.”

His eyebrow raised. “Mr. Vice President. What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

Castiel took a slow step back, and Sam let him.

“President, as of a moment ago. Didn't want it. Not like the old man did. But it's part of the job, and that leaves my seat empty.”

His memory nagged at him then, and he sighed. “Garth? I think that's a bit out of his comfort zone. Not even sure Garth’s got a comfort zone. In any case, he said to tell you that you're crazy. He's good at what he does. I don't think anybody needs to see him in Washington.” Sam smiled fondly. “He'd try to fix the partisan divide with blueberry vodka and group hugs.”

Victor gave him a strange laugh. “Governor Fitzgerald thinks I'm crazy, does he? Well, maybe he's right. I got plenty of ex-wives that'll agree. But I think I'm onto something, and I'll let you be the judge. See, I'm not interested in Garth Fitzgerald. I'm sure he's a good man. I'm more interested in the man he sent up here to undo all the damage Doc Benton did in his years here.”

Sam's eyes widened. “Me? What about me? I'm an attorney!”

“Yeah. Except for when you're a damn good congressman. The nation is waiting for someone who can step up and cause some trouble to get things done. And after today, I need a strong, imposing figure standing beside me. I'm the foreign affairs expert. You're a genius with domestic affairs. It's a good fit, Sammy.”

“It's...Sam…”

Victor shrugged. “I don't expect you to run. We got guys coming up the shoot for that, and we got years to prepare. Do this job for a few years, then go back to Kansas, and I'll make sure my last act as President puts you on a federal bench.” He nodded toward the stenographer who seemed to be shrinking into the setting behind them. “And I agree, Sam, that you've got nothing to apologize for. Imagine the good you can do if you can take the hit, like your brother did today. You can live a quiet life, a safe life, and no one would blame you for that. You've done more than most already. But your brother is a hero, and I've had to listen to years of him prattle on about how the real hero in his family is his kid brother. So you tell me. Can you take a few years of hell to do some real good in the world, or should I shake a different tree?”


	5. Taking the Hit

Garth was so exasperated at having to fill the same seat twice in one term- “Not to even mention the attorney general position, Sam! Remember how you were coming back to Kansas?!”-that he put his own niece Kate in it. It turned out that Kate had the teeth for politics that Sam had never had. The young woman let Mildred and Eileen take her under their wing, and she served four successful terms before returning to Kansas to run for her uncle’s former position. Blueberry vodka was among the drinks served at her inauguration as Governor. 

The Majority Whip spent a curious amount of time visiting the brave secret service agent as he recovered. Sam teased Dean mercilessly that his recovery would go much faster if he stopped taking visitors of the robust sort like her. Dean responded that he intended to never recover from Pamela. While his body certainly did heal, his heart was sealed in its fate, and the wedding guest list read like a Who’s Who of Washington, D. C. Dean was given a position training new agents, which he embraced with vigor. Sam felt a great deal of sympathy for those recruits, especially when Benny joined the trainer team, and Cole rose to the director position. In time, Dean and Pamela left the stress of the capital city, and retired to Sioux City to care for an aging, ornery Bobby Singer and an aging, gorgeous Chevy Impala. 

The first three years were hell, just as promised. Sam worked harder than he had ever worked in his life, and he hated most of it. But Victor had given him complete support regarding court, prison and sentencing reform, as well as championing public schools and libraries. Those who had been shocked and appalled by Victor’s choice of an inexperienced unknown soon found him to be a formidable figure, and those measures he cared most about bore fruit thanks to his tireless effort and refusal to back down from a fight. 

The nation had erupted in debate when it became clear that the new Vice President was also a committed boyfriend to a quiet, handsome man who stood in the background and declined public interviews. It was impossible for Castiel to continue working, and that was hard for a long time, but soon there was travel and projects that filled his schedule. When he and Sam were married in a very small ceremony, attended by family and close friends only, Castiel awoke the next morning to find that he was suddenly a hero among the LGBTQ community. He was asked to speak at events all over the world, and he became overwhelmed quickly. In a compromise, he began writing. He garnered a huge following that looked to him for his quiet intelligence and compassionate humor. He added the first stenograph to the collection of antiques in the Victorian home at One Observatory Circle. 

Victor made good on his promise to appoint Sam to a federal bench. Sam infuriated supporters by refusing to run for office instead. He had done what he could, and now he wanted to go home. Castiel had given everything for Sam's career and public service, he told reporters, and now it was time to repay him. Castiel had held his hand during the announcement, and simply smiled. No one had any doubt that it had been worth it to him. 

Special agents were a part of their lives now, even after moving back to Kansas, but Dean made sure Sam got the best ones, those who were diligent but also non-invasive. When they were settled, and Sam had gotten comfortable in his new position, Castiel went to work as a freelance pro bono stenographer and captioner for non-profit organizations. There was far less pressure, but the work was still important, and he continued to write for his loyal following. 

It took a long time, but one day, they looked at one another, and realized they were completely content. 

***

Castiel looked up at the sound of keys in the door. He smiled to himself. 

“Angel?”

“In here.”

Sam peeled off his suit jacket on his way through the house, and the tie came off at some point. Castiel was constantly finding bits of Sam's wardrobe all over the house as he straightened up. It was an old habit. “Hunter and Angel secure for the night” meant that there was a trail of clothing from the car to the bedroom wherever they were staying. 

Castiel stood on his toes to receive his kiss. “Welcome home, Hunter,” he teased. “I missed you. Think you could stay in one place for long enough for me to remind you why you come home?”

The judge smiled. “I'll never forget why I come home. But I've missed you too, and I'm not leaving again until they make me.”

He laughed. “Nobody makes us do anything, Sam.”

There was so much love in those hazel-green eyes that Castiel soaked in it. “Cas? I was thinking of something on the flight home.”

Castiel coaxed him to sit on the bed, and began stripping the man of his socks to rub his feet. “What's that?”

Sam's eyes closed. “You'll make me forget.”

He smirked. 

“A long while back...before President Creedy was killed, I went out for drinks with my brother. He told me he knew about you, that he had looked into you.”

Castiel shrugged. “I feel like I've been dissected by everyone at this point. It doesn't bother me that your brother was the first to vet me.”

Sam shook his head. “He said...said he couldn't find anything bad about you.”

This earned him a laugh. “I think everyone was disappointed to find out how boring I was. I think they were all hoping I was a flaming queen or a Russian sleeper or something. I never did anything that could remotely be considered exciting.”

“It was the first time we talked about me being gay. Thirty-five years old, finally coming out to my brother, and only because he already knew.”

His husband listened, and continued his ministrations to Sam’s sore feet. 

Sam sighed. “He said he just wanted me to be happy. And I told him I wasn't meant to be happy, but I could be useful.”

Castiel frowned silently. 

“Cas? I'm really happy.”

He looked up to find Sam's eyes open now, staring down at him in awe and devotion. He allowed a small smile to spread. “Sam, I'm not sure I could ever tell you how happy you make me. I remember the first time I saw you, I told Eileen you were too important to speak to me. You still are. You're this incredible man, who does such important things...But you let me ride along, and it's been an unbelievable trip. I'm so glad you're happy, Hunter. I've never wanted anything but you.”

“Make love to me, Angel.”

For years, Castiel had answered this request in the same way. He smiled down at his Hunter. “Stay in the morning.”

“Always,” Sam promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends this lil piece of crack. Happy Super Tuesday 2016, American friends!
> 
> ~Posing


End file.
